The Legendary Hero
by Tempest Bound
Summary: [Title's just a stand in] Everyone knows the legend of the Hero. And everyone, including the Royal Family, know the words and what they imply: this Hero, the one they celebrate, waited to be attacked himself before vanquishing the evil that destroyed Hyrule. And the King will not stand by as it will, inevitably, happen again.
1. The Legend

The Legend

* * *

><p>At the world's beginning, the three Golden Goddesses left a great and powerful relic, one that would grant the wish of anyone who found it, as long as they held a balance of the three Attributes: Power, Wisdom and Courage. The Triforce, the name of this relic, was coveted by many and wars and battles were fought for its possession.<p>

And while men were fighting amongst themselves, there rose a great evil, a man, that wished to take the Triforce for his own. But when he touched the relic, it split, leaving the man with only one piece, that of Power, and the task to find the other two.

In his relentless search, his forces burned villages to cinders and slaughtered so much the ground wept with blood. He tore through towns and leveled cities, so desperate was he to find the pieces of the Triforce.

He found the second to be with a princess, wise beyond her years, who held the piece granted by Nayru, the Goddess of Wisdom.

But he could not find the third, Courage, until one day he heard of a young boy who lived amongst the forest fairies. This boy, it was said, had the brand of the Triforce upon the back of his hand. The man set out for the forest to finally have his wish granted.

When he arrived at the forest, he did find the boy, but not a small child as he expected. Instead he found a boy who was nearly a man, and this boy, dressed in green, dared face him in battle. And so the two fought and fought until, when the dust had settled, one had been thrown to the ground while the other stood tall.

And the one that remained standing was the boy.

And so the promise of the Goddesses rung true: "For every time a great evil shall rise, a Hero shall greet it, garbed in green. And so it will be."


	2. Chapter 1

Zelda awakes with a scream.

It leaves her heaving, head between her knees, hands in her hair, and eyes wide and staring at the bed's blankets. She sits back after minutes, hours - who knows? - but the images keep beating at the back of her eyelids.

_A small, young boy, terrified, petrified, screaming and crying and kicking for his mother._

_And it's all for the legend_, they said.

She tears the blankets away from her suddenly, viciously, disgusted and guilty, and swings her legs over the edge, the soles of her feet pressed to the painfully cold stone floor. She ought to ask for a rug in her room, but she can't bring herself to, not to the servants, never to her father. A small measure of discomfort is much less than she deserves.

_How could you let this happen?_

The question weaves its burning threads through her mind, tightening and twisting, until it leaves her with a headache that pounds with her footsteps as she grabs her robe and heads out the door, down and down, ignoring guards and late-working servants, who rush out of her sight as soon as they see her.

She doesn't bring slippers.

* * *

><p>The last flight of stairs to the dungeons are slimy and wet, and Zelda can't help but wrinkle her nose at them. But all it takes is a moment of remembering who it is exactly she is here to see for her bite her lip and bear it.<p>

The guards, two, in nearly full armor, rise when they see her. One glances down at her bare feet and opens his mouth to say something, probably to ask why she doesn't have shoes, and the other looks as if he might offer his own for her to wear, but she lifts her hand and bids them to silence, because she doesn't want to know how stupid she is being or how useless this is.

She walks past and they quickly salute with a clink of metal, and as she turns the corner, she can hear them settling back down at their posts. She grabs a ensconced torch for light and pads her way, lightly, to her destination.

The cell, much larger than the others, had been two, once, but for its purpose, the wall separating the two had been torn down. There is much more light around its bars, even a small, high window. The floor isn't quite filthy, but isn't quite clean, and there is more than just a cot inside. It is what some poor soul might call comfortable.

She stops a foot from its bars, gut twisting so much she cannot draw closer. She tilts the torch toward the lock and leans forward ever-so-slightly to peer in at the form beneath the blankets.

The boy's side rises and falls, his face towards the wall. Zelda thinks to wake him, but that would only worsen things. And then the boy's breathing stills and he coughs slightly, and then he stirs and rolls over, sighing. He pulls the blankets tighter against himself.

And, blinking blearily, opens his eyes.

He bolts upright, his bed creaking, and jerks backwards so violently he slams his head against the wall behind him with the crack of bone against stone. He groans and tentively reaches for his skull and Zelda actually asks, "Are you all right?"

Because, really, how stupid can a princess be?

"You didn't just ask that," he says, softly, almost to himself. "Why are you here?"

"I…" She wants to say sorry, again. She wants to tell him it is for the greater good, even if it doesn't mean anything to him anymore. She wants to let him know she doesn't hate him, that that isn't why he's here-because he'd asked her if that was the reason, years and years ago, when he and she were both young and not quite sure what to make of anything.

"I know you're sorry." He meets her eyes, squinting in the light. "You can go. I've heard this too many times. I've practically memorized your spiel."

She bites her lip, then quietly says, "I wanted to pray with you, Link. Like we used to."

For a second the air is still and silent, and he simply stares at her, wide-eyed, one hand holding himself up and the other at his head. "What?"

And she realizes how desperate that must have sounded, asking for something they did together as children, so she shakes her head, laughs and shifts her gaze to his hand. "Do you…I'll go send for someone to tend to that." She bows, stiffly, quickly, clumsily, and doesn't lift her eyes again. "I'm sorry to have woken you."

And with quick steps, she walks away, past the guards and up the stairs, nearly forgetting to put back the torch. She stops in the hallway, just beyond the steps, back against the wall. She sighs and leans her head against the stone, shutting her eyes.

"Your Highness?"

Her eyes fly open at the sound of the servant's voice. The woman holds a wet rag in her hands, and her brows are drawn and frown heavy upon her face. "Are you all right?"

Something heavy sinks in her gut. "Yes," she lies, whistling it between her teeth. "Yes, I'm fine."

The servant nods. "For your feet," she says, twitching the rag.

Zelda glances down at her feet, which are dark and wet with grime. She looks back up at the woman and smiles softly at her. "Thank you."

She takes the rag from the woman, refusing help to clean her feet, and bids her leave. She even scrubs the spots where she had stood near the wall and, unsure of where to put the rag, finds another servant and passes it off to him. A few steps away, she stops and turns. "One more thing," she says, swallowing drily.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Send…send someone down to the Hero." She adds, "He's hurt himself."

The servant bows. "Right away, Your Highness."

She makes her way back up to her room, rubbing her arms, hands skimming over the soft fabric of her robe. She'll talk to him tomorrow. She will. She'll make him understand, even though it seems like he's understood quite well for some time. She nears her bed, the room dark save for the sliver of hallway light coming in from beneath her door and the pale moonlight filtering in through her curtained window, and places her hands on the mattress in front of her.

Then, kneeling, she prays.


	3. Chapter 2

Link hates music by now, he tells himself. Just like how he hates these bars and this cell and this legend and this scar on the back of his hand.

But there's that stirring of excitement somewhere in his gut that he can't quite smother when they come to collect him for his lessons. He still tries to muster his best unethused, unhappy, unimpressed face, because his teachers shouldn't know how much he waits for these few hours.

When he arrives, his teachers, the aptly named brothers Sharp and Flat, immediately send him to his first instrument, the one they'd taught him when he was seven: the ocarina. Its notes are simple and breathy and this music, this instrument, he hates. Wholeheartedly.

It was the year things changed, when he didn't quite realize where he stood among the wreckage, when he threw fits and refused to eat until they'd turned their backs, and they he'd eat because he was starving, and some of the kitchen staff thought the castle haunted. And then he was locked in his room until he agreed to behave.

The next instrument, the one they taught him when he was ten, follows. He's bored of the lyre, honestly. At one point, Sharp, who'd been composing some song on the other side of the room, asks Flat if this note or that note would be better next, and the argument that ensues is the most interesting thing Link has seen all day. Flat notices him watching with curiosity and shoos him off to what he'd been waiting for all day.

The violin rests in its case, glowing warm and rich and welcoming. Link picks it up and it finds the niche under his chin, the cup of his neck and collarbone and shoulder, and for the first time today, he let's himself smile as he plucks the strings and loses himself to the melody.

This music, this instrument, he loves. Wholeheartedly.

* * *

><p>It's an hour later, when he's supposed to be choosing his next instrument to learn, that he raises his head. He's still not fully awake, but the blur evaporates suddenly and violently when he sees the person watching from the doorway. From the corner of his eye, he can see Sharp and Flat rise quickly, having just spotted the Princess, and bow.<p>

The Princess says, "You may rise," and the two brothers lifts their heads, but her eyes remain fixed on Link's. He doesn't move to bow.

The silence is stilling, overloud, and she almost drops her gaze and lets him be, but Link bites his tongue and bows stiffly. "Your Highness," he says.

"Hero," she returns. She doesn't tell him to rise. Instead she says, "May I speak with him alone?"

The brothers bow again and leave quickly. After a moment, Link hears the door shut and sees the Princess' feet appear in his obstructed vision. He doesn't ask if he can straighten. He'll be the one to hold out longer, surely.

"Rise," she says finally.

Link obeys and meets her eyes. His voice steely, he remarks, "Intimidating me into bowing doesn't seem very apologetic, Your Highness."

She shakes her head. "His Majesty's orders, Link. He said he doesn't want you thinking you can do what you want. Even disrespecting a princess. " She cocks her head, brows draw and eyes sad. "I'm sorry."

"I hope there's more to your visit," he lies. "You've interrupted my very important music lessons."

"I wanted to talk to you."

"As you told my teachers."

The Princess swallows drily, and it suddenly hits Link that she would never show emotion in front of a court or servants or people because she is royal and ought not be affected and should be stable. "His Majesty has told me that he is considering letting you out of your cell. That you can come back up."

The bow slips from his fingers and clatters to the floor. The Princess rushes forward and takes the violin from his numb hand. She is but inches from him, watching his face, and he looks down to find she is not only holding the violin, but also his hand. There is something earnest in her expression, in the tightness that she holds him by his fingers.

"Link, are you all right?"

He is still staring at her hand on his, registering the sounds and sights in muted and dulled bursts. He feels hollow, the wind knocked from his chest. "You're joking," he chokes finally and his legs fold beneath him.

The Princess follows him to the floor, shaking her head and still holding his hand, muttering, "No, no, why would I joke? Link, I'm serious. Look at me."

And then it spills into his gut, the sloshing and frothing anger and indignation. The world slams back into full color and sound and suddenly everything is hurting and painful and pulsing. "I was down there for two years!" he shouts, but his voice breaks halfway through and it ends in a ragged, torn whisper.

"Yes, but he's letting you back up," she says, smiling widely but sadly.

"Thinking," Link mutters, rubbing his face with a hand.

"He says he's 'thinking' about it, but that's always meant yes."

"When?" he asks, finally looking up.

"When did he tell me? This morni-"

"When will I be able to come back up?" he snaps.

She purses her lips but decides not to chastise him. "I don't know. I'll tell you as soon as I do." She pushes the violin into his lap, drops the bow with it, and lets his hand go. It feels cold now that she's not holding it. She rises to her feet and smiles down at him. "You should be going back to your lessons. Sorry to have disturbed you."

He watches her walk away, and as she opens the door, he says, voice wavering and hopeful, "Zelda, thank you."

Stopped in the doorway, she smiles crookedly back at him. "I just hope things can go back to the way they were." And with that, she leaves.

* * *

><p>He actually chooses his next instrument. He actually tries playing it and doesn't find himself hating it too much. The guard, when he comes by to collect Link from the music room, frowns at his sudden happiness and almost looks like he might ask what happened in those few short hours.<p>

Normally, when he's let back into his cell, he eats and then starts his workout, but today there is too much energy in his limbs and he can't sit still for the time it will take for him to finish his lunch. Instead, it's only after he's done his stretches and chin-ups on the pipe he's hung from the bare rafter above his cell that he feels the hunger pulling at his stomach and he finally allows himself his meal.

* * *

><p>Hours pass. He continues on with his routine-vaulting over the box they gave him, back, wall and front flips-these he doesn't know why they insisted on him doing; when would these showy things ever be useful except to entertain?-jumps and leaps and rolls and wall runs, which don't go as high as he'd wish, with the ceiling so close. He's startled by the guard that bangs on his cell's bars to take him to his weapons practice.<p>

He's gotten quite good at the bow, he muses, firing an arrow into the target. It hits the second ring from the center, closer to the center than the edge. He manages to hit a bull's-eye after the fifth arrow, and the soldier assigned to him today corrects him only twice.

And then there is the sword fighting.

Link's thrown off his feet several times, still unused to the weight of his shield. He'd only advanced enough to warrant picking one up last week, and it's only wood, but it completely disrupts the way he'd been swordfighting for the past three years. The only thing rewarding about the entire session is the look on his instructor's face the first time he rolls to stop his fall.

"Wouldn't want to get injured," Link mutters sarcastically at the soldier, whose only answer is to shake his head, point his sword at him and tell him to pick up his weapon.

As they're putting the weapons away, Link asks the same question he's asked every training session for the past few months: "You have any idea why I have to know so much? Fighting, music?"

And, as the answer has been for the past few months, the soldier shrugs and leaves him to his guards.

As he's being lead from the yard, he has an idea.

Link turns and regards his two guards with a cool gaze. "You must know what kind of training I do in my cell," he says. He squints at the shorter of the two men. "In fact, weren't you the one to give me the pipe?"

The guards cough uneasily. One of them says, "Yes, we know."

"So you should also know I do wall runs, right?"

The men exchange glances. "Yes?"

"The ceiling's too low," he says slowly, testing the waters. The taller of the two guards starts shaking head vehemently, but Link adds, "And so I can't accurately gauge my progress. Just one run up? One, that's it. I'll come right back down if I make it to the top, I swear."

The two guards look at each other, and Link knows he's nearly won. "His Majesty the King himself asked me to add wall-runs to my routine."

The shorter one sighs and the taller merely rubs his forehead after lifting his helmet slightly. Link grins.


End file.
